Page 28 of Pick Six
“Well, I have to go, or at least I really should, and I’d rather not do it solo.”
“Why not?”
“Most of the other guys I know who are going all have wives or girlfriends, so it makes me an awkward extra wheel. It also usually means the women I run into think I’m a free agent. Would be easier to avoid that with you there.”
“Well, I can’t have those harpies touching my man,” I tease him.
“So you’ll go?” There’s a hint of hope in his voice.
“Even if I wanted to, it’s black tie. I don’t have anything to wear to that. I’ve never had to attend anything that fancy before.”
“So take my card, or Sam knows some people who could pull some things if you don’t have time to go shopping. Just send her your measurements and she’ll take care of it.”
“Just send her my measurements. Right… No way, Alex. I’m not having you buy me things like that. And god knows whoever Sam works with is going to buy expensive things.”
“It’s not like I don’t have the money. And also, you’re eating the dinner I bought you. The candy. Watching a movie that I’m going to rent.”
“That’s one thing. This is different.”
“You realize I probably bought the clothes you’re wearing now and half the things in your house, right?” His eyes drift over me.
“What?” I stare at him.
“I’m Drew’s biggest client. His salary is a percentage of mine.” He raises a brow as he looks at me before he turns his focus back to filling the tortilla before he throws butter down and tosses it on the griddle.
“I…” I start and then stop because he has a point.
“Never thought about that before?” He smirks at me.
“No, but I see you have. I assume you tormented Drew about owning his TV and his grill?”
“Nah. If I was going to torment him, I’d bring up other things.” His smirk spreads and he turns the quesadilla.
“Like?”
“Oh, I’m not walking into that trap, Saint.” He shakes his head. Another moment later and he plates the quesadilla, handing it to me. “There’s guacamole, salsa, and sour cream over there.” He nods to the counter on the other side of the kitchen.
I wander over to it, but I’m burning with curiosity about what he means. I glance back at him before I move to put the toppings on. Stopping when I realize what I’m looking at.
“Did you… did you make guacamole from scratch?” I raise a brow.
“Yeah. I hate the store-bought stuff. Not enough lime. Try it. I promise it’s good.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d been looking at movies long enough for him to have time for that. It looks good. So does the quesadilla. I always just assumed he hired someone for all this or ordered in every night, so the fact that he does some of his own cooking is kind of impressive. Not that it’s a high bar, but then I’d made a lot of assumptions about him.
“I just can’t believe you’re this domesticated. If the women find out they’re going to go even more feral for you than they already do.” I grin at it. “Does Sam know you cook? I feel like if she did, she would have told you to post a recipe video to social media already.”
“I don’t cook. I just make a few things,” he grumbles as he puts his quesadilla on the griddle.
“Fine. You shouldmake a few thingsfor the camera then. Let them see you in the kitchen.”
“Don’t give her ideas.”
“I mean, it would be a good look if you were a tad more domesticated. You know?”
“Isn’t that your job? To domesticate and reform me?” The teasing tone returns to his voice.
“Ha. I’m not up to that task. I don’t know what woman is, but good luck to her.”
